


Shime-Waza

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Creampie, Insecurity, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Top Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: It's approaching New Year's Eve now. They don't have any neighbors, let alone friends. It's another holiday Will is more than happy spending alone, but he can feel Hannibal's antsy mindset. He wouldn't call it anxiety, more like frustration. Cabin fever. Hannibal is a social butterfly and is used to being lavished with attention for his wonderful parties. Now, the only person he has to entertain is Will, and while Will tries to be supportive and liberal with his compliments, he's just one person. He is not the grand jury Hannibal can impress with lies and sophistication, he is not an enraptured audience thirsty for entertainment.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 34
Kudos: 388





	Shime-Waza

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nephila_clavipes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nephila_clavipes/gifts).



> Gifted to Nephy from an anonymous friend <3
> 
> Ref: A chokehold, choke, stranglehold or, in Judo, shime-waza (Japanese: 絞技, lit. 'constriction technique') is a general term for a grappling hold that critically reduces or prevents either air (choking) or blood (strangling) from passing through the neck of an opponent. The restriction may be of one or both and depends on the hold used and the reaction of the victim.

This year was the first Christmas Will celebrated with anyone since he moved away from home, and it's…weird. Hannibal didn't go all out, there were no light fixtures he could see from space, nothing but some tasteful garlands on the front fence, a string of lights around the door, and of course, a tree inside. It was beautiful, Mardi Gras colors, purple ornaments with gold tinsel and green highlights around the tree.

It's tradition, Hannibal tells him, to leave the decorations up until Epiphany. Will doesn't mind, the dogs don't mess with the tree after he warns them once against snooping too closely, they're well-behaved and prefer nesting by the fire instead of trying to mess with any of Hannibal's decorations.

It's approaching New Year's Eve now. They don't have any neighbors, let alone friends. It's another holiday Will is more than happy spending alone, but he can feel Hannibal's antsy mindset. He wouldn't call it anxiety, more like frustration. Cabin fever. Hannibal is a social butterfly and is used to being lavished with attention for his wonderful parties. Now, the only person he has to entertain is Will, and while Will tries to be supportive and liberal with his compliments, he's just one person. He is not the grand jury Hannibal can impress with lies and sophistication, he is not an enraptured audience thirsty for entertainment.

"Do you know of any parties in the area?" he asks, the night before the Eve, with brandy in large glasses, a fire roaring, and Hannibal staring behind him at the Christmas tree, lost in thought. At the sound of his voice, Hannibal's eyes snap to Will's, dark with shadows.

His head tilts. "Parties?" he echoes.

Will nods. "Yeah. Just. Gatherings, I guess. Something you want to go to." The fingers of his hand not holding his brandy tap against his knee restlessly. It's been such a long time, so long, with just him and Hannibal together. Will is not someone he can wow, not someone who will look at Hannibal with wide-eyed wonder.

Hannibal's head tilts a fraction further. "No," he replies. There's no inflection to his voice, no change in his expression or stance. He just is. Wholly, completely, solidly in the middle of his existence. "Do you?"

"No," Will says. "You know, if you did, that would be okay, right? You could go. I could come with you, if you really wanted."

A hint of a smile lights Hannibal's eyes, though his face doesn't change. "How very accommodating," he murmurs, his voice still lacking inflection and giving nothing away. Will clenches his jaw and sighs through his nose, looking down at the brandy in his hand. Straight from the bottle, it has the color of burned amber. In the firelight, it's more golden, like Hannibal's eyes.

"Hannibal," he begins, still staring at the swirling alcohol, "I know you miss it."

"Miss what?"

Will's jaw clenches again, teeth grinding together so hard it makes his temples ache. He raises his eyes. "Socializing. Wowing people with," he gestures vaguely towards the other man, "everything you can do and be and are."

At that, Hannibal laughs. It's low and deep in his chest. He shakes his head and folds one leg over the other. "Will," he says quietly, "you are the only person whose attention and praise means anything to me, anymore. I care not for the bleating of sheep, they are dull and easy to impress."

"But you enjoyed impressing them," Will snaps. "Like people who show magic tricks to monkeys. You're an entertainer, at heart, a showman. I don't -." He sighs, shaking his head. "I don't want to rob you of that. Of anything. I want all of you, even the parts that don't include me."

Hannibal's eyes flash, though with what emotion, Will can't say. He can read Hannibal as well as any man, his empathy didn't shatter like his bones after falling off the cliffs, but sometimes Hannibal's reactions are simply too full of nothing to mean anything. Not performative, but too primal, too primordial, to be designated as something human.

"Will," he murmurs, "you are everything."

Will growls quietly. "What do you want me to say?"

"You're the one who started this conversation," Hannibal counters smoothly. "How did you intend it to go?"

"I don't know!" Will admits. "For you to, I don't know, be giddy, tell me about this party you want to go to. Sweep me up and coax me to agreeing. Buy another stupid suit I don't need and compliment its cut as though you're surprised at how well you know my measurements. Take me to some blind, sheep-like audience we can decimate together, with conversation and skill. _Something_."

Hannibal's head rights itself, and then tilts the other way. "You're restless."

Will opens his mouth. Closes it again. Is he? Is this projection? He's never been good at separating what he feels and what he reads, too-often applying guilt and intrigue and hunger to the person he's with rather than himself. Is he projecting? Expecting Hannibal to be restless and full of cabin fever, when it's really on his shoulders?

"I'm used to celebrating the holidays alone," he says instead of any of that, tossing another line into the river to see if something else bites. Hannibal takes a sip of brandy, his eyes still so dark, he looks like death himself with the fire at this angle. He looks beautiful and menacing, like a monster. Will loves him so much it makes him ache deep in his stomach. "Everything's been so understated. We're alone, Hannibal."

Hannibal lets out a quiet sound, rich and soft with pleasure. "We are," he agrees.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Will presses.

"Will. Since the moment I met you, I have only wanted to be the sole focus of your attention, your affection, and the object of your thoughts," Hannibal says, making Will flush, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. "You said so yourself. Nothing in your life that isn't me. You were correct then, and you're correct now."

Will's blush darkens. He takes a drink of brandy, feels the burn of it run down his throat and settle in his chest, warming his heart and lungs. Or maybe that's just the effect of having Hannibal's gaze on him for so long.

"I suppose it would be fitting," he says. "Ringing in the New Year, together. Isolated." Hannibal's fingers curl around his glass. "Alone."

"With the whole world spread out in front of us," Hannibal agrees. He stands, then, in a smooth motion, and crosses the small space to take a seat beside Will, on the opposite couch. Their home here is cramped and intimate, so many blind spots, so many places for monsters to hide. Will's heart rate quickens, his stomach tenses, as Hannibal flattens a hand right above his knee.

"I don't want to cage you," Will breathes. "You're not my…pet. This isn't a traveling circus if you don't want it to be."

"I spent three years in a cage for you, Will," Hannibal replies. Will clenches his jaw, turns his face to the fire. It warms him, caressing his cheeks and his jaw, making the scar buried in facial hair sting a little. His scars are so sensitive to heat. His forehead burns as well.

"Don't remind me," he mutters.

He can hear Hannibal smiling, even though he can't see it. Hannibal's hand slides an inch up his thigh. Will parts his knees further, giving him room, feels his nails curling around the inner seam of his slacks and pulling the fabric taut. He hears a small _clink_ as Hannibal sets his glass down on the table beside the couch. Wordlessly, Will surrenders his as well, and hears a second tiny sound as Hannibal places it down.

He turns his head, meeting Hannibal's eyes. It's no more or less difficult than it used to be. Hannibal's eyes show his soul, that vast and windowless place, so easy to get lost in. Hannibal once said, high on painkillers and rocking together on a little boat in the middle of the Atlantic, that Will has a gaze he could drown in. Is it better to drown, or be swallowed by the abyss?

Either way, it's peaceful. It's blissful.

"Memories of hardship warn us, instinctively, from repeating them," Hannibal says. His hand doesn't move. Will burns for him, wants him further, wants him to touch. He won't, not until he's ready. Hannibal is a man of impeccable timing, and doesn't like to be rushed no matter how sweetly Will begs for him. "Reminding you of my imprisonment discourages you from repeating it."

"I don't want to," Will breathes. "I want you free."

"With you."

"With me."

"Another cage."

"You wandered in and made yourself at home."

Hannibal smiles. "I did," he purrs, leaning in and grazing his lips against Will's scruffy jaw. Over his scar. His hand slides up a fraction further, teasing Will with its weight, its promising touch. Another leash, a bondage, that he would rather die than fight himself free of. "You've made such a wonderful home for me inside your skull, darling."

 _Darling_. Will has never been fond of pet names, he could barely force himself to call Molly 'babe' even after marrying her, but when Hannibal kisses the word to his ear like that, he melts as surely as ice in a thaw. He closes his eyes, tilting his head to allow Hannibal access to his jaw and his neck, rewarded with soft, open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat as Hannibal's hand slides up just a little more, his forefinger barely touching the bulge of Will's thickening cock.

Will gasps, and tilts his head back, resting heavy on the cushion of the couch as Hannibal lavishes attention on his neck, squeezing his thigh as Will spreads them further, desperate for a firmer touch. He reaches, blindly, for Hannibal's other hand and guides it to his skull, aching for pressure at his nape and strong fingers winding through his hair.

Hannibal, as he always does, obeys Will's unspoken plea, fisting Will's hair and forcing his head back, his body forming an arch as he plants his feet wide, knee touching Hannibal's, and groans weakly to the ceiling.

"I wonder," Hannibal purrs, raising goose bumps on Will's arms and neck, "will you make a home for me elsewhere?"

 _Yes_. Will tries to choke out the word, but no sound comes, just a parting of his lips as Hannibal chooses that moment to flatten his hand over Will's erection and squeeze it, gentle and torturous. Will's hand flies to his wrist, squeezing tight enough to bruise, grinding his cock against Hannibal's hand. He grits his teeth, eyes falling closed, breathing turning heavy.

"Was that a 'Yes', my love?" Hannibal rasps. Will can't trust his voice, so he merely nods.

The shift in position is as fast and sudden as lightning, Hannibal rising and releasing, then pushing Will onto his back on the couch. Hannibal shoves one of his legs up, hooks it over the back, and grabs Will's other thigh, keeping him spread open and pinned. Will gasps, eyes wide as he reaches, flattening his hands over Hannibal's chest and supporting him when Hannibal leans down and captures Will's mouth in a kiss. It's harsh, and holds teeth, and Will loves the sharp bite of pain followed by a tender lick. He's being savored, devoured at Hannibal's leisure.

" _Hannibal_ ," he whispers, a soft whine escaping when Hannibal flattens his body between Will's thighs and grinds, powerful and strong. The firelight paints him in darkness, shadows raging across his hands and face. He looks just like the monster out of Will's worst nightmares and best dreams. Will aches for him, desperately, and lifts his head for another kiss that Hannibal eagerly answers.

"Take off your shirt," Hannibal commands, growling the words to Will's jaw. Will nods, frantically tearing at the buttons of his shirt and working them off his shoulders, exposing the dragon's stab wound, and the smile on his stomach. Hannibal kisses the jagged knife scar, and then the scar on Will's cheek, then his forehead. He breathes in at Will's hair and grazes his fingers up Will's flank as though testing a cut of meat for tenderness.

"Hannibal," Will cries again, just as he did in the catacombs. He can't handle the tenderness of the touches, the light brush of Hannibal's lips, the teasing grip of his hand on Will's thigh. There's a creature inside his skull, howling for its mate, searching blindly in the endless cavern of Hannibal's mind. He braces himself on his elbows and seeks Hannibal's mouth, but cannot reach, so he mouths and kisses Hannibal's rushing pulse instead. "Please, I want you inside me."

Hannibal lets out a sound close to a snarl, and rises again, robbing Will of his heat. Will doesn't fight his wandering hands, merely lays there, prostrate for his monster, as Hannibal unfastens Will's slacks and slides them down with his underwear, over his knees and off his legs. Will is completely exposed, favoring bare feet even in cold weather when inside the house.

Hannibal's eyes flash again, something too animal and ancient to be given a human name. His fingers trace the curve of Will's smiling stomach, as he pulls Will back to a sitting position and sinks between his knees. Will sucks in a breath, running his fingers through Hannibal's fine hair, flattening wide on his skull as Hannibal meets his eyes.

"Please," he whispers.

Hannibal smiles, and pushes Will's knees farther apart, before lifting them over his shoulders. Will slouches on the couch, material sticking to his sweaty back, and sighs as Hannibal takes Will into his mouth. His lips stretch out wide, his mouth so wet and burning hot. Will loves it when Hannibal does this, he loves giving Hannibal so much power and trust. Even on his knees, Hannibal owns the room.

Hannibal takes him down to the root with no effort, no gag reflex to speak of, enveloping Will in tight, soaking wet heat. In a rare display of sloppiness, he lets saliva gather and drip from his lips. Will knows why. He's ready, when Hannibal's fingers coat themselves in his saliva and rub down, slicking Will's perineum and testing the resistance of his rim. Will relaxes, used to this by now, eager to surrender to the pressure, the fullness, the sheer _weight_ of Hannibal existing inside him.

Hannibal pulls off his cock with a harsh lick, as his finger breaches Will. He smiles, and lifts up, to kiss Will's hipbone. "That's it, darling," he purrs, nuzzling Will's sweaty, blushing skin. "Relax for me." Will nods, breathless, trying to keep his knees as wide as possible on Hannibal's shoulders as Hannibal forces his way inside. There's a slight burn, like the brandy, combining with the heat in Will's chest to just make him ache all the more.

The first brush against his prostate is like a wave of fresh fire, making Will's body arch and air forced from his lungs in a ragged moan. Hannibal's smile holds teeth and triumph, as he does it again, slowly coaxing Will's body to open up for him and relax further.

"This is what I want, Will," Hannibal murmurs, almost absently. The words are not meant for Will, not directly, but he hears them all the same as Hannibal mercilessly pets his prostate, making him tremble, cock drooling onto his stomach. "You, forever mine. Just the two of us."

Will swallows harshly, trying to get enough brain cells to even out his breathing, let alone try to speak.

"It insults me when you try to push me away," Hannibal adds, grazing his teeth over the crease of Will's thigh. Will frowns, his fingers flexing in Hannibal's hair. " _Again_. I'm capable of indulging you, to a point, but I have my limits."

Will lifts his head as Hannibal pulls his finger out, and rises to his feet. He grabs Will by his hair and yanks him upright, into a savage, brutal kiss. Will melts against him, grabbing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, fighting for breath and friction and understanding. He's not pushing Hannibal away, he would never.

"I just want you to be happy," he manages, when Hannibal lets him free. He's trembling now, too much heat inside him and not enough on his skin, thrown about on the stormy, tempestuous seas. Hannibal wants to drown in him, and pull Will under so they can share that watery grave.

" _You_ make me happy," Hannibal snarls, and pushes Will onto the couch again, grabbing his hips and flipping him to his hands and knees. Will braces himself against the back of the couch and whines softly when Hannibal's hand flattens on the nape of his neck, punishingly strong and tight enough to threaten a blood choke. Will goes absolutely still, cheek against the cushion, heart racing.

Hannibal steps up behind him. Will can hear the rustle of his clothing, so he spreads his legs, letting Hannibal close enough to touch him, to fuck him, to put more fingers inside him and make a space for himself in Will's body. He doesn't feel fingers, just the blunt, spit-wet head of Hannibal's thick cock. It makes him tense up, knowing he's not slick enough, not ready enough.

But Hannibal is absolute, and Will can't deny him anything. When Hannibal pushes against his rim, Will's body opens for him, letting Hannibal in. Will groans at the twinge of pain, grits his teeth and clenches his eyes tightly shut, nails digging into the couch on either side of his head.

"I will say this only once, Will," Hannibal growls, fucking into him slowly, fighting for every inch, until Will feels Hannibal's rumpled clothes shoved tight against the backs of his thighs. Will can barely hear him over the rushing in his ears, the tiger's snarl too low for him to register. "You are mine, and I am yours, and if there is _ever_ a lack, between either of us, you will tell me." He flattens his hand on Will's spine, making his body arch into a punishing curve, his thighs and shoulders aching from taking their weight. "You will tell me when you are restless. You will tell me when you are hungry. You will tell me _everything_ , and we will sate your needs together."

He doesn't move, just holds himself there, deep inside Will's spasming body as Will tries to breathe and see through the darkening edges of his vision. Hannibal's fingers loosen, just enough for Will to get a headrush, and slide up into his hair. He yanks Will's head back, forcing him to lock his arms or risk falling again, and puts his teeth to Will's ear.

"Do you understand me?"

" _Yes_ ," Will replies, ragged and low. Hannibal yanks Will's head to the side and kisses him with teeth, his other arm sliding around Will's waist and holding him tightly as he starts to move. The motions are rough and there's no rhythm to it, just jarring, brutal pressure on his rim and dragging over his prostate, forcing Will to hang in the limbo of Hannibal's cruelty and his love.

It's such a wonderful place to be, and Will loves Hannibal all the more for taking him here, where he can just revel in the friction and pain and exist, with Hannibal, in this tiny house in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but them, no one but them, together, as things should be.

Will laces his fingers with Hannibal's on his chest, sliding up so Hannibal can feel Will's pounding heart against their linked knuckles. Hannibal's fingers tighten, and he slides his other hand out of Will's hair and down to his other hand, lacing their fingers together and making the cushion groan with protest. His mouth never leaves Will's, kissing and biting until his lips burn and he can't breathe properly.

Hannibal's thrusts are too shallow for Will to get the dizzying, mind-numbing pleasure that Hannibal usually gives him, but he knows this is by design. He hangs his head, shivering when Hannibal's teeth slide into place around his spine and lock there, a fighting dog in a chokehold ready to snap its prey's neck.

"Please," he whispers, and moans weakly when Hannibal bites him, cock twitching inside of Will as blood vessels burst and a welt forms beneath his teeth. He doesn't break skin, he has no need to now, not when Will is already so thoroughly, permanently marked by him. It excites him, Will remembers being told.

He pushes Hannibal's hand from his heart and to his smile, relishing Hannibal's low, ragged snarl. He loves every wound Hannibal gave him, every milestone that led them here, to this strange, impossible circumstance.

"Harder, Hannibal," Will whispers. " _Please_." Hannibal obeys him, a slave to Will just as much as Will is a slave to him. His body jolts against the couch when Hannibal's pace grows rougher, though no more rhythmic and no more pleasurable for Will. Still, Will is hard, dripping down onto the couch, incensed by Hannibal's hands and weight on him, his teeth landing harsh bites and kisses to his shoulders. He is in the arms of a predator that loves him too much to eat him, and if that isn't mutual adoration, he doesn't know what is.

Hannibal's rhythm stutters, before he blows out a heavy breath and pulls out. Will whines with the loss, trembling and weak as Hannibal guides him into Hannibal's lap and forces Will to sit, to sink, welcoming Hannibal inside him again. Reflexive tears of pain burn his eyes and throat. He wraps his arms around Hannibal's shoulders and clings to him, burying his face in Hannibal's neck.

"No," Hannibal commands, tugging on Will's hair. "Look at me."

Will does, forcing himself to watch Hannibal's face even as this angle proves much more difficult to simply bear. Hannibal doesn't want Will to bear him, to weather him, to simply accept and survive, but to welcome. To need, to invite, to _ask_. To thrive under his care and attention.

Will kisses him, cupping his face as Hannibal's hands flatten on his ass and help him move, grinding rough and steady, Will's cock smearing a mess all over Hannibal's waistcoat. The brush of silky fabric makes him shiver, grinding harder, seeking everything his mate can give him that feels good. Blood, brutality, food, sex, Hannibal gives him all of it in spades.

Hannibal's hands tighten, nails digging in. "Look at me," he snaps, sudden enough Will flinches, meeting his eyes. He rests their foreheads together, noses brushing. Hannibal's forehead is damp with sweat, or maybe it's all Will, mingling together, blurring as they should, forever, he needs Hannibal to be inside him forever.

"I'm sorry," he rasps, as Hannibal shoves Will down by the hips and grinds up against him, nostrils flaring. "I'm sorry, Hannibal." He kisses the corner of Hannibal's mouth, nuzzling his cheek before meeting his eyes again.

"Don't do me the discourtesy of saying you didn't mean it," Hannibal murmurs. His hands slide up Will's bare flanks, holding his ribs so hard it's a struggle to breathe. Every action is perfectly timed, to make Will more and more desperate for him. His entire body burns in the heat of the fire, thighs aching from constant motion and stress, shoulders on fire, chest tight and heart racing.

"I won't," Will promises, stealing another kiss. "I'm sorry."

"Don't run away from me, Will." Hannibal's eyes are black despite the firelight painting his face in beautiful golden hues, the monster in them is right at the surface, salivating, snarling at Will. Will nods, brushing their noses together, sating that animal the only way he knows how, with sweetness and pliancy. Hannibal's fingers relax on him, letting him breathe again.

"Come inside me," Will begs. He knows Hannibal is close, he gets rougher and more violent when he's close. Will has spent months catering his body to his mate's needs, deriving pleasure from rushed spit jobs as much as he does from endless nights being tortured and teased until he's begging for release. "Mark me. _Please_ , Hannibal."

Hannibal wraps his hand around the back of Will's neck, squeezing tight over the bite mark he left, and he shoves Will's body down, his hips driving up, before he goes still. Will doesn't dare close his eyes. He watches Hannibal come inside him, feeling his cock twitch within the tight clench of Will's sore rim, watches his face go lax by increments as he sates his desires inside of Will and floods him.

Will is hard, but he's not close. He senses Hannibal wants to torture him further, to deny Will his orgasm. This isn't about that. There's nothing mutual about Will's surrender, tonight. Will kisses Hannibal's flushed neck, wrapping his arms around his shoulders again and pressing tight to his chest, letting his eyes slip closed. Hannibal's hands pet up and down his spine, soothing Will's tremors.

Finally, Hannibal sighs. He's softened, but Will is too tight and dry for him to just slip right out, and Will has no intention of being the one to disconnect them first. He nuzzles Hannibal's pulse, measuring it as it slows beneath his lips.

After what feels like another age, time immemorial passing between them, Hannibal sighs again, kissing Will's red cheek.

"I am restless," Will confesses.

Hannibal hums, his hands coming to a rest on Will's hips. His fingers graze, with nails, over the bone and through the little trail of hair below Will's navel. He doesn't touch Will's cock. Will almost doesn't want him to.

"How can I help that?" he murmurs.

Will straightens, meeting his eyes again, and cups Hannibal's face. He's gentle after his orgasm, most of the time, more inclined to be kind to Will, to appease the small part of Will's nature that lashes out against cruelty, and seeks vengeance with his own sharp teeth and claws.

"I'm so afraid of you growing bored," Will says. "Restless. Whether it's an extension of my own feelings, or talking myself in circles until I was projecting, I don't know." He's being honest, he can't lie to Hannibal ever again without risking his life. His life is Hannibal's to take, but it's Will's to surrender, just like everything else. "I want you to have your audience, something beyond me. If you want it too. I'll applaud the loudest, cheer first, I swear, but I keep thinking you need more than…just me."

Hannibal's head tilts as he considers Will's face, searching for deception or deeper truths hidden in the lines of his iris. He grazes his fingers up Will's flank, behind his shoulder where there's another welting bite mark, and then in front of it, so he can touch Will's cheek.

"I think," he says slowly, "that's another projection."

Will frowns.

"You have only just awakened, and given your inner creature room to roam. Now, it's in a pen, a cage, just as I was." Hannibal's eyes are sharp on Will's face. Will has no idea what he's showing in answer, he only hopes that it's honest and that Hannibal can pick the thread of truth from the tapestry of Will's inner turmoil. Hannibal sighs again, so gently. "There's a leash around our necks, my love, connected, so that we're constantly choking each other."

Will tenses, almost flinching at the words. He doesn't like it when Hannibal talks like this, like their relationship, their union, is anything less than perfect for what it is. He knows it's codependent, ravenous, unhealthy, insatiable, but it's _theirs_ and that makes it perfect.

"I don't want it loosened," he confesses. "I want to die with you."

Hannibal smiles. "You will," he promises. "One day." The vow settles Will's tense shoulders and lets him breathe again. "Do you crave an audience, Will? Someone who knows exactly who and what you are, in their final moments, before you take their life?"

Will bites his lower lip. "I…," he says, but he hesitates.

In that moment, he realizes; yes, he wants that audience. He craves it. But he wants that audience to be _Hannibal_. He wants Hannibal to see him, in his monstrosity, his cruelty, his violent delights. He cares not for the sheep. He wants _Hannibal_ to see him. To watch him. To share, and accept, and survive with him.

He hasn't answered, but Hannibal knows him, down to his bones and his soul, that endless ocean that Hannibal could eagerly, readily drown in. "I will watch you," Hannibal promises, kissing the words to the scar on Will's cheek. "Choose anyone you want, anything you desire, and I will see it done." Their fingers lace, resting on Hannibal's chest.

Will shivers, closing his eyes, and nods. "Will you watch me?"

"Every moment. Every cut. Every smile. Of course, Will."

Will smiles, and tilts his head for a kiss. It's passionate and deep, and feels like it lasts an age. It stirs in Will that hunger again, impatient and strong. He moans weakly when Hannibal drags their joined hands to wrap around Will's cock, which hardens quickly at the touch.

"For now, I will watch you like this," Hannibal says with a smile, reclining at ease against the back of the couch. "Show me."

Will shivers again, grinding his hips into Hannibal's hand as he plants his own on Hannibal's shoulders. Their eyes meet, and lock. Will doesn't look away first, as Hannibal's skillful hand strokes him, and when Hannibal's cock slips free, he replaces it with the fingers of his other hand, reminding Will of how slick and open and sore he is.

Will comes with a soft groan, and lunges for another hungry kiss that Hannibal eagerly answers. "We will find someone tomorrow," Hannibal promises, rubbing Will's come into the smile on his stomach. "Ring in the New Year properly."

"Sounds perfect," Will murmurs. They share another promising set of smiles, as Will rubs his sweaty forehead against Hannibal's, and kisses him again.


End file.
